THROUGH
A LENS DIMLY
A SPORTS SHOOTER I’M NOT
Part II
By Dick Kraus
Newsday (NY) Staff Photographer (retired)

A great sports photo often becomes an icon and comes readily to mind
whenever it is mentioned. A few that I can think of are the shot
of Lou Gehrig, the Yankee great who was dying of ALS ( which later
became known as Lou Gerhig's Disease) as he announced his retirement
to the crowded stands saying that he was the luckiest man on earth;
the shot from behind Babe Ruth, another retired Yankee legend,
as he faced a packed stadium when his number was also retired;
a worn and weary Y.A. Tittle, the famous NY Football Giant quarterback,
kneeling on the field of play, bruised and bloodied with helmet
in hand, as his career came to an end; and Cassius Clay (now known
as Muhammad Ali) standing victoriously over a beaten opponent (could
it have been Walt Frazier?)

There is
another shot of Ali that stands out in my mind as a sports icon,
even though it never got the play that the aforementioned shot
did. It's a photo that hangs in the hall at Newsday and was made
by one of my colleagues. Smiley was
one of the best sports shooters that I ever knew. He had an exquisite
sense of timing which was borne out by this particular photo.
He was at that classic Cassius Clay vs Joe Frazier (?) fight,
and was right under the two protagonists when Clay/Ali caught
Frazier (?) with a wicked right to the jaw. His photo captured
the moment of impact and the force of that collision showed Frazier's
(?) face being distorted as well as the spray of sweat that was
thrown from his head at that instant. My God! For the years that
I had left at Newsday before retiring, I would always stop in
front of that photo being displayed with other Newsday classics,
and stand in awe.

Now, I
wanted to make a sports icon photo. Especially a boxing shot
like Smiley's. I mean, how hard could it be? It wasn't like any
of the field sports where the action ranged over huge areas.
Or even like basketball with action charging from one goal to
the other. This was all taking place in a relatively small area,
bounded by ropes. And, from what I've seen on tv, both participants
in the bout are throwing punches at each other. Maybe I could
get lucky with the timing and get a point of impact shot like
the Ali photo.

I got my
chance, sort of, when Sports needed some photos of a newly configured
ring which contained 4 ropes instead of the usual 3. It was supposed
to be safer for the athletes. One of these had just been installed
at the old Sunnyside Arena in Queens and I was dispatched there
to make some shots. There were some Golden Glove bouts being
fought. Sports wasn't concerned about the action. My assignment
was to focus on the fact that the boxers were in one of these
4 rope rings.

This match,
as I said, was a Golden Gloves Tournament and wasn't drawing
any media attention other than me, nor was there much of a crowd
in attendance. I was able to take my pick of spots to make my
photos. In order to get enough of the ring to show the new rope
configuration, I worked from a few rows back. After I had enough
to satisfy the Sports Desk, I was free to pursue my dream of
the ultimate boxing photo. There was little chance of anything
I made being used by the paper because it wasn't a major event.
But, it gave me the opportunity to show that I was capable of
being a great sports shooter, should the occasion arise.

I moved
down to a stool behind one of the corners and poked my Nikon
under the lower rope. Smiley had told me, once, that you can't
really use the viewfinder for boxing. You snap on a wide angle
lens and just move the camera in the general direction of the
boxers by guess and by golly, and wait for the action to come
close to your corner. You had to pray that the knock-out, if
it came, happened in your corner and not all the way across the
ring. If that happened, you had to shoot whatever you could and
hope that it would survive the extreme enlargement by the darkroom.

I followed
Smiley's advice, and for the next hour or so, I trained my camera
on the sweaty bodies laboring above me. I didn't have a motor
drive, back then, so every time a punch was thrown, I would hit
the shutter button and crank the film to be ready for the next
flurry of action. Oh, man, I was getting some really great shots.
There were no knock-downs, but I know that I had some frames
that would produce an iconic photo as good, or maybe even better
than Smiley's.

I couldn't
wait to get back to the paper and run my film. As soon as the
rolls came out of the drier, I had them on the light table and
was passing the loupe over each frame. Crap! There was no icon
in the bunch. In some frames, the punch hadn't landed yet. In
others, the punch had landed but was now well past the point
of impact. In fact, in most of the frames, the boxer's gloved
fist all but covered his opponent's face so that all you saw
was glove. That's when I really appreciated Smiley's exquisite
timing. The punches came at lightning speed and they had to be
anticipated. You couldn't wait for the movement that signaled
the onset of a punch. By the time you recognized it and hit the
shutter, it was all over. I knew that attaining the precision
that is the hallmark of a true sports shooter would never happen
in my lifetime.

Alas, such
is the case with most sports. I found this out later on when
I had to cover some horse races.

I had
never been to a horse race. I had seen a few on tv, but you have
no point of reference so speed is a relative thing. Newsday had
reporters covering races at the two tracks in Queens; Belmont
and Aquaduct Raceways. They got their race photos from the wires.
A couple of times a year they might send the Sports Photographer
to cover a major race like The Belmont Stakes.

Once, when Aquaduct Raceway reopened after having been closed for
a season for a major face lift, I was assigned to photograph the first
day of the season at the renovated park. Sports was looking for general
shots of the fans enjoying the ambiance and the atmosphere. I got overalls
of the new grandstand; bettors lined up to put their money down at
the pari-mutual booths; close ups of men eating hot dogs while studying
the morning line looking for a winner. I had it pretty well covered
and still had plenty of time to spare. So, I thought, why not take
a shot at getting the definitive horse race photo?

When the
next race was announced, I went down to the break in the
infield fence. I had noticed the dozen or so sports photographers
collect there
before each race, to be allowed to cross the track to take their
places in the infield near the finish line. When one of the stewards
opened the gate, we filed across the dirt track and took positions
in the infield. Some of the shooters went to a stand just past
the finish line to get a higher vantage point from which to shoot
the finish. That was too mundane for me. I wanted drama. After
all, I was shooting the definitive race photo. I had seen some
very dramatic photos that came from a very low angle right at
the finish line made with a very wide angled lens. You know the
ones I mean. The horse is practically in your face and you can
see the dirt flying from the hooves that are inches away from
your lens. Now that's drama.

No one
else was setting up for that shot, so I got down on my belly
to frame my masterpiece through the viewfinder. Then I waited
for the horses. The starting gate had been set up somewhere behind
me, on the opposite side of the oval track. I could hear the
track announcer describing the action to the crowd as he explained
how the jockeys were guiding their steeds into the gate. Bells
rang and he cried out, "And they're off."

He gave
a running commentary about each horse's position as they reached
the first turn, and as they raced down the backstretch. All of
this was out of sight from my position so I depended on the announcer's
comments to prepare me for my shot.

"They're
at the final turn and coming into the straightaway with Feedlebaum
in the lead and Mamma's Friend close behind."

I could
only see what was directly in front of me through my viewfinder
so I couldn't follow the progress of the event. But now I could
hear
the thunder
of their hooves and the roar of the crowd as the race drew to
a finish. I pressed my eye to the viewfinder and my finger to
the shutter release button. I had no motor drive at that time
so I knew that I was only going to get one shot and one shot
only. And, one shot was all I got. Unfortunately, it was shot
of the ass end of the last place horse as he flew past me. By
the time I saw the front hooves of the lead horse appear in my
viewfinder and I pushed the button, that horse was well past
me. Jeez. These are friggin animals; not supercharged auto racers.
I had no idea that they were that fast.

Well, I
wasn't going to waste any more time on that shot. Obviously,
it would take more time than I could devote to get my timing
perfected in order to make a picture like that. There were about
40 minutes until the next race went off, so I went back to the
grandstand
to get a hot dog.

When the
next race was announced, I again followed the other shooters
across the track. This time I moved a little past the finish
line. Once more I opted for a low angle shot, but this time I
would use a medium tele and would shoot looking down the track
as the horses approached the finish line. I sat on the infield
grass and focused my lens on the finish line. I would shoot as
soon as the horses came into focus.

"They're
Off!"

Strange.
I didn't see any of the other photographers. They were nowhere
in sight. I though that maybe they're shooting the start. What
did I know about covering horse races?

Again,
I heard the track announcer calling off the positions of the
contestants as they reached specific portions of the track.

"The horses are coming around the far turn and heading into the straightaway."

I looked
down the track through my lens. I didn't see any damned horses.
What the hell was he talking about? I started to panic.

"Dirtbag
is in the lead as they approach the finish!"

I stared
through my lens at an empty track as the crowd roared. And then
I heard the thunder of hooves from in back of me. I turned to
see horses speeding behind me, on the infield. It was a friggin
Steeplechase
where the horses race on a dirt track on the infield and jump
over hedge hurdles. I could only wonder what the thousands of
racing fans in the grandstand must have thought I was doing,
squatting at the infield fence while the race took place behind
me.